Death is a fickle thing. It comes when you least expect it and leaves you reeling, as sometimes it is slow, and takes its time, often leaving people in awful pain and agony. Not a pleasant experience. Other times, it is instantaneous, so fast you do not even notice it I kind of like the second one I speak from experience
My first life I honestly don't remember much except that I was a college student( not sure if I was a guy or a girl)and I was good at playing video games, drawing and dancing (I'm not too sure about the last one)
I got into a airplane for some reason which crashed and I died
It was the fast quick death type which I like sure now you would be saying how is dying even great well it would be great if I just stayed dead but then I had to be reborn
Little Jake's day began with the sun's gentle rays streaming through his bedroom window, casting a warm glow on his fishing gear neatly arranged in the corner. He hurriedly dressed in his favorite fishing-themed T-shirt and khaki shorts, ready for the day's escapade.
"Mom, I'm heading out to meet Mike at Jamaica Pond," Jake called out as he grabbed his backpack containing a homemade sandwich, a water bottle, and some snacks.
Jamaica Pond, nestled in the heart of Boston's Jamaica Plain neighborhood, was Jake's go-to fishing spot. Surrounded by lush greenery and dotted with charming walking paths, the pond offered a serene escape from the bustling city.
As Jake arrived at the pond, he spotted his friend Mike already setting up near the water's edge. Excitement filled the air as the two friends exchanged greetings and eagerly discussed their strategy for the day.
"Hey, Jake! I heard there's a big bass lurking around the southern end. What do you think?" Mike asked, adjusting his fishing hat.
"Sounds like a plan! Let's try our luck there first," Jake replied, enthusiasm lighting up his eyes.
The duo carefully selected their fishing rods, bait, and lures, casting their lines with precision. As they waited patiently, the beauty of Jamaica Pond unfolded around them—the rhythmic croaking of frogs, the gentle rustling of leaves, and the occasional laughter of other park-goers.
"Jake, check this out!" Mike exclaimed, his fishing rod bending as he felt a tug on the line.
The friends worked together to reel in a shimmering bass, their faces breaking into triumphant grins. They carefully released the fish back into the pond, excitedly anticipating their next catch.
Amidst the fishing excitement, Jake and Mike took a break to enjoy their homemade sandwiches under the shade of a large oak tree. They shared stories, laughter, and dreams, and then the big bad wolf came along and killed little Jake horribly
If it was anything to make you feel worse Little Jake had only a single parent his mom his dad was supposedly a nice warm friendly guy who was amazing at fishing and was also very absent from Jake's life because of reasons which his mother felt were perfectly good reasons to feel sorry for him and miss him(she still loved my dad)
After all this I had to still not stay dead (in case you still didn't get it I am poor little Jake and here I was psyched at being reborn and having a easy life at school till I died)
In the coastal town of East Port, Gont where the salty breeze carried tales of both the sea and sorcery, lived a boy named Renn an apprentice to the local weatherworker,
Renn's mentor, an experienced and weathered practitioner of the magical arts, was known as Old Wayter. Old Wayter was well known his knowledge sought by sailors ,some claimed that he had learnt his arts from a Wizard which was no surprise as the Island of Gont is a land famous for wizards. From the towns in its high valleys and the ports on its dark narrow bays many a Gontishman has gone forth to serve the Lords of the Archipelago in their cities as wizard or mage, or, looking for adventure, to wander working magic from isle to isle of all Earthsea but old Wayter was no wizard, nor did he ever meddle with the high arts or traffic with Old Powers; he knew very little of the Balance and the Pattern which the true wizard knows and serves, and which keep him from using his spells unless real need demands though he had a spell for every circumstance, and was forever wearing charms. Much of his lore was mere rubbish and humbug, nor did he know the true spells from the false yet he taught a honest craft
Each morning, Renn would accompany Old Wayter to the edge of the port, where they would stand facing the open sea and Old Wayter would began his incantations, calling upon the winds and clouds to dance to his command Renn watched in awe as the sky responded, shifting and swirling by his master's practiced gestures and make sure to remember all he heard
The people of East Port relied on the weatherworkers to ensure safe voyages for their fishermen and traders Renn's days were filled with learning the intricacies of wind manipulation, cloud shaping, and the other spell required to maintain, sail and repair a boat , the art of fogweaving, a spell that could shroud the port in mist, providing cover for incoming ships and also the names of the sea gulls several fish the power it gave him over bird and fish, and thanks to the knowledge of these everyday he would come home with basket full of fish crabs and shellfish (for which he had learnt a seeking spell to find the shellfish)he had caught with this art .
With each passing day, Renn's confidence grew, and he eagerly absorbed the knowledge passed down from his mentor he was very quick at learning and fluent at it too. Old Wayter praised him and the people of East Port regarded him not just as an apprentice but as the next weatherworker seasons changed, his abilities as a weatherworker flourished. He could summon rain, clear skies for sun-kissed days, and gentle breezes to guide ships safely into the harbour
Yet, trouble came soon in the form of a invasion